


Untitled

by Vincent_Valentine



Series: Vent [3]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Cutting, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-11-12 16:18:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18014180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vincent_Valentine/pseuds/Vincent_Valentine





	Untitled

/maybe you should stop/

 

The voice wasn’t loud enough, not this time anyway.

 

The broken disposable razor is his weapon, valiantly wielded against an already marred foe.

 

/so you’re your own foe huh?/

 

“Shut the fuck up” he grunted, running his fingers through raven hair. He looped his fingers through the mess of curls and pulled lightly, as if that would quell the smug tone in his head.

 

Trying to go back to the task, he gripped on the modified razor tighter, whitening his knuckles.

 

There was barely enough time to breathe before he scratched the razor against his pale arm. He felt an initial sting, causing him to bite his lip.

 

A total of seven strikes to the arm, none bled, which made the satisfaction fade.

 

An impulse. A harder press into the skin.

 

This time it was into the leg. The movements were rapid and between the stinging lines fell burning hot tears. Sixteen of them, all thinner than he would’ve prefered (One limitation of the disposable razor’s blade). Two of them were just about five inches in length though, and they all bled like hell. They hurt too, more than the tiny little nics on his arm. But this wasn’t enough.

 

/it never is, is it?/

 

“I'm begging you to keep fucking quiet” his voice cracked, thanks to the new stream of tears drizzling down his face like a missguided rainstorm.

 

SLASH SLASH SLASH.

 

His left food was now bleeding heavily.

 

“F...uck” his right foot, ankle and now most of his calf was stinging more than anywhere else.

 

/look at this mess you've made, how long are you going to go on like this?/ the voice piped up again.

 

/the world will keep on turning while you’re in here, bleeding your life away. You're not even scared of people finding out anymore, your parents already lost faith in you. Your girlfriend leaving you because of these little lines? You have come to accept that, haven't you? Your friends have seen the scars, and yet they save nothing, like a little taboo.

 

You'll just haul yourself up here whenever things don't go your way. At least become an alcoholic, that'll kill you quicker than the inevitability of you cutting too deep one day./

 

He let the voice keep talking, he couldn't breathe, not when he was on the floor, not when he stood and threw the razor out of the window. The voice reminded him of the walk of shame he’ll take to retrieve it, just another inevitability.

 

He ran a bath and soaked for a while, not calming a smidge. When he climbed into bed that night, he stared at the ceiling for a long while, the voice announcing its final night thought before he drifted into a dark, deep sleep, ringing like an old church bell.

 

/see you again tomorrow/


End file.
